


Cold (Constructed) Hard Cop

by fandom_susceptible



Series: The Remnants of Praxus [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: War for Cybertron
Genre: ALSO I LOVE PROWL, AND MAKING THEM ALL ONE CHARACTER, Also Ninja!Prowl, Also my own bizarre thoughts, And also elements of Animated and Prime/WFC, And drafting a backstory for this mental mix of Prowls that I have, Cop!Prowl, Gen, Guest Apperance of, I'm Bad At Tagging, IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR A MEAN PROWL FIC, Inspired By Tumblr, That'll be a while, Thief! Prowl, This is me taking G1 Prowl and IDW Prowl, have fun, no but seriously, partly, so enjoy looking forward to Yoketron, stay away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_susceptible/pseuds/fandom_susceptible
Summary: You were built for this.  This is what you were made for.  Of course you're happy.  You're fulfilling your purpose in the world.  Your frame is built perfectly, just like all of your coworkers.  You need nothing else.  If you're discontented you must be ungrateful.This was the Functionist chant in the audios of the cold constructed officers of Praxian law enforcement.  But one talented young Enforcer is partnered with a Polyhexian, and he's not so sure anymore.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have wanted to write this for a long while but haven't had the time when I wasn't wrapped up in some other project, especially now during the holidays. Welp, I have a cold now and I'm basically useless when I have a severe sore throat, so I am now here.
> 
> Update it has been almost a month, I'm not sick anymore, and finally have the coherent thought to manage this.

    He onlined for the first time to distinct disorientation and pain.  His frame was all wrong, felt too bulky, too big, his spark hurt, his processor felt like it was melting down even as his battle computer and TacNet activated and ran seemingly endless simulations to figure out why.  He couldn't react, nothing in his frame was responding, his vocalizer wasn't hooked up yet.  A stinging sensation in his neck and the pain slowly abated as his optics activated.

     Sharp blue optics - _wrong_ \- registered another mech in front of him, a little white mech with an odd cylindrical helm, someone he didn't recognize.  He didn't recognize anyone, granted, he had never seen anyone before.  But even with the pain abating something felt so wrong about his body.  It still felt clunky, thick in places it shouldn't be, his optics even felt wrong in his helm.

     "Can you hear me?" The white mech asked sternly.

     How did he understand?  His processor felt like it was overloading from the amount of information pressed into it so early.  Something told him to reply and he did, just as sternly. "Affirmative."

     "Good.  Step down." The white mech took a step back and he obeyed.  As he did so he felt two appendages shift and try to flutter on his back, feeling too heavy to manage it as they were meant to - door wings, his overadvanced processor supplied.

     The white mech circled him and his door wings twitched up a bit with tension, unsure why he was tense but unmistakably so.  It didn't stop the stranger, who ran a scan on his prickling plating and entered it into a datapad, turning a bit away from him as another mech walked up, frowning severely.  The new mech's frame type almost mirrored his own, with door wings and a chevron, though his colors were darker, blue, gray, and black rather than his black and white.

     "Quark." The stranger greeted the smaller white mech, eyeing the other. "So this is the one with the experimental Tac-Net  . . .?"

   "Complete with the newest edition of the cold constructed battle computer." Quark rattled off easily. "He's all yours, Badge.  He took longer to settle because of the modifications to his processor, but he should be fine now."

     "Good, he's already a day late." Badge said, annoyed. He jerked his head to the black and white mech who stood in silence, tilting his helm slightly with curiosity as they spoke. "Come on then, Number 24.  I'll take you back to the station so you can get straight to work.  You'll get your name then."

     Somehow it registered in his mind that Badge was talking to him and the black and white mech stood at attention.  He frowned a bit but followed as directed.  This all felt so wrong, so uncomfortable.  What could be wrong, though?  Why did he feel this way?  He didn't know what  _right_ felt like, only that this wasn't it.  He couldn't report it without due evidence, his battle computer submitted.  Something was obviously wrong, there was pain, his spark argued.

     His overadvanced processor - the battle computer, advanced logic center, and fully equipped Tac-Net - soon put a stop to that.  This was fine, his battle computer informed him.  Scans showed no danger or damage.  He was functioning at 100% capacity, his logic center pointed out.  His Tac-Net suggested no course of action but to follow Badge.  His spark still felt uncomfortable, but it was overruled.

     His face smoothed as they transformed back at the Station, already adjusting to his too-blocky frame.  This was fine.  He was functioning perfectly.  There was no other course of action.

     Badge led him inside the Station and his processor calmed a bit, comfortable in this environment, Enforcers striding back and forth as they were needed as beat cops or at their desks.  One was consulting with a detective off to the side.  Most wore frames similar to his, though some with brighter colors or slight alterations that marked them as Forged with their own personal touch, rather than his standardized cold frame.

     He was directed to one half of a messy desk and his coding screamed to clean it up but he awaited orders.  Badge readily gave them.

     "I'm Lieutenant Badge, I'm not the Head Enforcer but I am your boss.  Our leading forensics guy is disorganized, cluttered, hard to work with.  Polyhexians are like that.  You're his new partner.  I'll give you two a few days to get to know each other and for you to clean up after him, but then we'll have you back on the beat.  You cover him while he does his nerd slag, and we'll have you working on analytics for his evidence.  You two show up after the crime to help ID the culprit and we do the rest.  Understood?"

     Number 24 looked back at him with an expression that could best be described as equal parts puzzled and damning, a stare just accusing enough to make someone wither but not enough to have attention called to it.  It unnerved him and he growled a bit.

     The white and black mech steadied himself at attention and replied pointedly. "Acknowledged.  However, the absence of my partner could pose an obstacle."

     Badge glowered at him. "Tumbler's down in forensics.  You should have a map of the station pre-downloaded.  He knows where you're to go after work, so don't come to me; your hours are the same as his." He waved the white and black mech off.

     Number 24 went stiffly and Badge frowned at his back.  It had been some time since a brand new cold construct had back talked him that way.  As a matter of fact he wasn't sure any ever had.  There was something different about this one.

      He dismissed it as the battle computer and went back to work.


	2. One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd almost forgotten, but his partner hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Dialogue Heavy

     "So I was thinking we could go out to a movie later." Tumbler chatted idly as they drove out of the Station.

      ". . .Tumbler, we are on our way to investigate a murder." His partner pointedly flared his lights at a mech who was walking almost into the street.  The mech yelled after him but he paid them no mind. "I hardly think now is the time . . ."

     "We do this every week, you could stand to relax a little, Prowl." Tumbler snorted.

     "Someone is dead, and you want me to relax.  I'm certain the mecha of the city would be delighted to know how much priority you place on their safety." Prowl replied dryly, though he remained rigidly within driving laws.

     Tumbler flared his field as if he were rolling his optics. "Everyone needs time to relax.  You're not going to be much use in keeping the public safe if you work yourself into a nervous breakdown."

     ". . . We don't have nervous breakdowns.  We don't even have nervous systems.  Were you watching an organic documentary again?"

     "Yeah, yeah.  It's lucky we don't because if we did, yours would be shot." Tumbler teased, nudging his bumper up against his partner's back end, earning himself a sharp jerk that stung them both and a driving ticket pinged to him, already signed by Prowl.  He sighed and let off. "At least you deserve to relax  _today_."

     Prowl sighed. "What is so important about today?"

    "It's your  _Creation Day_ , silly!  One planetary cycle ago today, you stepped out of that cold construction facility for the first time and returned to the Station with the Lieutenant.  I don't mind telling you he was excited to get you, too."

     There was that wrong feeling again, but he didn't really think about it.  Why should he?  Everything was progressing appropriately, other than his partner's typical ramblings. "Oh?" He resigned himself to listening to Tumbler ramble about nonsense like Creation Days.  

     There was a brief pause. ". . . Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it like that, of course they don't just own you, I meant your service, not  _you_ exactly." Tumbler stammered. "I just, well, that.  He was very excited because of the rising skills of Praxus' criminal element - the same reason they did the trade with my department in Polyhex.  You and I are credited with turning the force around."

     He almost wanted to stop his partner to inform him he knew very well that as a CC he was not considered a full officer and was credited with nothing more than doing his duty.  But that would be overstepping his place in society.  He'd grown used to that as well and had learned when to speak out and when to be silent.  And with Tumbler, it was easier to just let him ramble.  He meant no harm. 

     Tumbler kept going. "All that aside, it's the first day you ever onlined.  You made it through your first planetary cycle!  We should celebrate!" He urged.

     Prowl didn't even reply, just transformed as the reached the crime scene and flashed their insignias.  He gestured briskly at the half-transformed frame in the blockaded section of the street and looked expectantly at his partner. "I believe you have work to do."

     Tumbler sighed. "Yeah yeah.  Come give me a hand."

     As it turned out, all the evidence indicated it was a simple hit-and-run incident.  The rest of the Enforcers were ready to dismiss it as such when Tumbler noticed Prowl's thoughtful look and odd silence. "What's up?"

     "My battle computer indicates the likelihood of this incident being a hit-and-run accident is approximately 35.457%." Prowl said, frowning slightly at the grayed frame.

     One of the other Enforcers, an unpleasant mech named Coldsteel, sighed irritably. "And how do you figure that?"

     "His state of transformation." Prowl replied, unbothered by the mech's reluctance. This, too, he'd grown used to; he hardly heard it any longer. "It seems unlikely that a mech would transform in the middle of an intersection in this manner.  In addition, the tracks indicate a collision, yes, but the streaks that would indicate this mech's vehicle form moving do not match his mode of transportation.  He has a hover mode, not wheels."

     Tumbler walked over to look again, rubbing his mask thoughtfully. "That's true." He mused. "This track looks more like a smoothed over tire track, not marks from a hover mode.  I need to run some tests in my lab."

     "Well, if it wasn't a hit-and-run, what was it?" Coldsteel asked impatiently.

     "Murder and assisted suicide make up 87.325% of my calculations." Prowl replied blandly.

     "Murder?  In the middle of the street?  And it didn't get called in that way?" Even Tumbler looked skeptical at this.

     "Has anyone interviewed the optic witnesses yet?" Prowl replied without answering directly.

     Coldsteel glanced at the young Enforcer who'd been in charge of that.  The mech quailed a bit. "Not fully?  I asked a few preliminary questions, but the case looked pretty cut and dried, and they were so upset I could barely get anything useful out of them."

     "Such emotional distress also generally indicates something more sinister than a mere accident." Prowl pointed out.

     "Also true.  It could be that the half-transformation just made it that gruesome, but . . ." Tumbler shrugged.

     "I strongly recommend contacting the witnesses again to get full statements." Prowl said blandly.

     "I second that." Tumbler added.

     Coldsteel gave them both an annoyed look. "Why do you two always have to make things so slagging complicated?  We could've all been home early tonight." He shook his helm. "Fine.  Linkchain, track down those witnesses and get full statements.  Tumbler, since you recommended this, you get to put in some specific questions to help your case.  I want this wrapped up within the week."

      "Yes sir." Linkchain saluted.

     "Sir." Prowl gave him that  _look_ , the one all the older Enforcers hated, the one that said he knew something they didn't and it was only a matter of time before they paid for it. But he was perfectly polite, respectful; not even his posture was a fraction of a millimeter out of line.  Coldsteel couldn't stand to look at him.

     "Sir, shouldn't Prowl be drafting the interview?  I'm in forensics, and he was the one who originally-" Tumbler began.

     "I don't know how things work in Polyhex, Tumbler, but in Praxus you obey your CO when he tells you to do something." Coldsteel snapped.

     Tumblr deflated. "Yes, sir."

     "Get back to the station if we're done here.  Let the cleanup crews do their work.  You can investigate the frame in the morgue." Coldsteel ordered.

     As they drove back, Tumbler grumbled. "It should've been you. Actually, can you do it?  You're so much better at it than I am."

     "Of course." Prowl said, ever compliant to add something to his duties. "And that is hardly out of the ordinary."

     "They could at least treat you a little better on your slagging Creation Day." Tumbler argued.

     "While I appreciate your concern, my Creation Day means nothing to me." Prowl said bluntly. "I am content."

     Tumbler grumbled. "You deserve more.  Anyone else would've gotten a promotion by now with how hard you've worked."

     "I have put forth no results that were so exemplary as to override my inexperience." Prowl replied. "Not yet.  When that day comes I will, of course, fight for it."

     "You should." Tumbler flared his field out reassuringly. "You sure deserve it, you've been working for this place since you could walk, literally."

     Prowl hummed noncommittally and their talk faded as they returned to the station, Tumbler going to the lab as Prowl reported to his desk to continue the paperwork that always seemed to end up with him, and to draft that set of questions for Linkchain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah yeah I know bad ending but the chapter was getting too long. There'll be more on this case though.


	3. I don't think this was an accident.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl gets suspicious.

     Prowl frowned over the case data again as he tried to write out the questions.  Something just didn't add up.  Even if this was a murder, as the circumstances highly indicated, he had no motive.  He needed to know more about the victim.  He made sure to put that into the questions, along with the standard questions about what the killer looked like and if anyone had recognized them. There was no distinguishable motive, so he set it to his battle computer's pattern parser to see if there were any precedents.

     The only pattern he was left with was the state of half-transformation.

     Prowl paused and looked over the photos again, frowning.  Half-transformation.  Why was that common enough to be marked as a pattern by his battle computer?  It didn't feel like a glitch.

    He checked his internal files and then tapped the intercom for the lab. "Is anyone still there?"

    "I'm here, partner. What's up?" Tumbler replied.

    "Can you get me the records from the Trackwheel, Shiftlight, and Axelturn cases please?" Prowl asked, still frowning at his photos.

    Tumbler paused. "What's up?  The Axelturn case is already solved, we've just got to track down that particular killer."

    "Humor me." Prowl hung up and stared at his case files again, frowning deeply.  In truth there was no real connection to any of the other cases, except . . . the half-transformation. And those were just the most recent cases.  He'd need to have a look at some of the archived ones too.  But until he had a little more information there was no need to bother anyone else with digging those out.

    No, he'd just do that after Tumbler went home.  He'd leave the questions on Linkchain's desk for the morning as well.  Night Shift was already filtering in, but they were used to working around him and hardly anyone spoke to him anymore.

    Tumbler soon brought the files up, shaking his helm. "I don't know what you're up to, but it's your Creation Day, so I won't even annoy you by asking.  But don't stay too late, okay?  You should get some rest." He said, putting them down on the cleared part of Prowl's desk.

    "Thank you for the files, Tumbler.  I no longer have need of your services." After a beat Prowl remembered to add, "Good night."

    Tumbler sighed. "Yeah, yeah.  Good night, Prowl." He patted the Praxian's shoulder and left.

    His partner's presence had put Prowl's mind back on track a bit, and he bent once more to the questions.  The problem was, most of the questions were things that he needed to know, but the bystanders couldn't.  Honestly, all they could give was circumstantial evidence, other than an image of the killer.  If any of them had still image abilities in their optics that would be good to know and he wanted those images. Any possible information about killer and victim was welcome, but the event was . . . almost beside the point now, given how much they knew.

    He checked Tumbler's analysis, which he'd dropped off with the other files, once more before he filed those questions.  Everything was as he'd expected, except . . .

    . . . . .

    . . . . . . . . . .

    Why was the mech's t-cog missing?

    That didn't make any sense.  It definitely indicated that this was a murder, but why would a mech perform a very public murder and take the time to remove their victim's t-cog?  The publicity of it was what stunned him.  How had this killer been so brazen as to believe they would not be seen doing something that would take so much valuable escape time?

     And what was even more puzzling, there didn't even seem to be much damage, indicating that the victim- Residue, his name was- had been either already dead at the time, or had the organ removed by a skilled surgeon.  Given his state of transformation, that left only that he was already dead, which would have made his T-cog extraordinarily difficult to reach to remove.  How was this possible?

     Prowl made sure to add a few more questions to the list, such as how long it had been before anyone had called the police and what  _exactly_ had they seen the murderer doing?  He made a note to tell the spectators that Residue's t-cog was missing if it seemed they could handle such news when being interviewed.  He had no doubt Linkchain would traumatize a few mecha who were not prepared, but it was better than not having that information.

    Oh, what he'd give to have those conversations taped.  He sent a memo to Coldsteel's desk asking for it, though he hadn't much hope.  After all, Coldsteel wanted this wrapped up with as little fanfare as possible.

     Questions spent, he delivered them to Linkchain's desk and then looked back at his own.  Suspicion overcame him again and he referenced the other three murders again.  All were half-transformed with some sort of damage to the t-cog.  Two were removed, one merely damaged.  A picture of the damage made him squint; it was almost like a handprint, but the digits were far too long and thin for any natural frame type, and surely someone with that distinct of hands would have been caught quickly. Ah, it was the Axelturn case.  The mech's circumstances made his murder easy to blame on the serial killer Goldstop, so most did.  Prowl had always thought the crime scene had been left a bit messy for his MO, but his opinion seemed not to matter.

     Still, four cases weren't enough for his battle computer to drive him to quite this level of suspicion. With that in mind, with the lull between shifts where only a skeleton crew maintained the Enforcer Office, Prowl ventured down into their archives and deftly pulled out all the cases within the last year that had half-transformed victims.  He grabbed one or two from before his own time as well for good measure, and took them all back to his desk to look them over.

     Half-transformed, speedster, no enemies, chalked up to serial killer Topshot. Half-transformed, convoy, minor politician, many possible culprits, solved but the murderer claimed not to be responsible, despite being willing. Half-transformed, racer, visiting from Velocitron, no known Cybertronian enemies, a fluke, unsolved. Half-transformed, speedster, Polyhexian, no name, no identification, unsolved.  All with removed or damaged T-cogs.  Where there were pictures of the damage, Prowl's battle computer matched the images with the digit-like patterns on Axelturn's.

     Something settled in the pit of Prowl's fuel tank, and he squinted. How had no one noticed these patterns before?  Surely something like this was . . . no, it wasn't noticeable.  Most of these murders were marked as accidents or closed cases.  The only common element was the seeming obsession with transformation.  But those patterns on the T-cogs . . .

     Half-transformed, Iaconian, monoformer.

     Prowl paused and reread that.  Yes.  It said it was a monoformer.  Who had been murdered and twisted about to appear as if transformed, before being abandoned.  This one was chalked to Scourge, who had escaped from prison at the time.  He looked up the archive of the interview with Scourge about the situation.

      _"And what do you have to say about the death of Influx?" Cliffspike slid the pictures over._

_Scourge studied them and did a slight double take, tilting his helm with optics momentarily narrowing, before casually pushing the pictures back. "What about it?"_

_"We know you did it."_

_Again, that flicker in his optic ridges. "So what if I did?"_

     Prowl stopped the recording there. He'd gotten all he needed to know.  Scourge hadn't killed that mech.  So who had?  He examined the images, thinking he'd find the same marks as on the t-cogs.  To his battle computer's confusion, he found marks that seemed to match Influx's own hands exactly.

     Now that was a strange development.

     Maybe not.

     The next case Prowl picked up he almost set aside again when he noticed it was marked down as an assault case, not a murder.  Something, probably his need to properly complete everything, had him reading it anyway, despite that.

     The victim was a dojo instructor named Yoketron . . . he skimmed over the introduction of what the mech did, focusing on what had actually happened to him.  The mech recounted chatting with a former student, one whom he'd asked to leave the dojo for being 'too violent'.  The student had seemed to repent and when the two had gone to leave together, he had been attacked partially to his vehicle mode.  He blamed his student, but no one had ever found evidence of another mech in the dojo, though his injuries must have come from somewhere.  The Enforcers had marked it as the old mech hiding something about where he had really been, but character references indicated Yoketron was quite sincere and sound of mind.

     Prowl frowned again.  No evidence of another mech present despite the injuries making that impossible.  He'd been half-transformed.  Were there any photos of his injuries?  He checked the archives again for more on the Yoketron case, and then reviewed the folder in his hands.  There was a small packet from the hospital and he had to flare his optics to see it correctly in the dark, but yes, they were there.

    The marks on Yoketron's plating matched up with those on the T-cogs.

    Prowl glanced at the time.  It was nearly dawn already.  He checked the Hub for the hours of Yoketron's dojo.  It would open in just an hour.  He wasn't due back on duty for two.

     He stored all the relevant files in his desk and was out again by the time the first of Morning Shift clocked in.


End file.
